


A Darker Mark

by ashtonimore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Werewolf AU, Werewolf!Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtonimore/pseuds/ashtonimore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I read a Tumblr post about the idea that Draco could be a Werewolf, as punishment for his parents mistakes, and voila this was born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Darker Mark

            It starts with a bite. Unsurprisingly painful, and he can sense the sadism behind it. Fenrir Greyback currently has his teeth embedded in his arm, and he knows that it’s only by a thread of restraint and the threat of Voldemort’s anger that he isn’t losing his life. If Greyback had his way Draco would be a bloody mess on the floor. Several times over this past hellish week Fenrir had shoved him into a corner, growling into his ear about how much he was looking forward to this; only after numerous well placed hexes from Draco’s mother had he backed off slightly.

            He winces as the fangs penetrate deeper into his veins and the poisonous saliva enters his system.  Fenrir’s massive hairy body is stinking up the room and it’s almost a distraction from the horror going on right in front of him. Blood streams down his arm the same time as tears begin flow from his face. He turns his head away and barely manages to choke back a sob. The snickers start around the room and his cheeks go red from a combination of shame and hatred. Greyback relinquishes his arm and licks his lips with a disgusting, beastly growl of pleasure. Draco has to resist the urge to draw his wand and wipes his face instead. He holds his arm close to him and stalks out of the room without waiting to be dismissed; a risky move, but he doubts Voldemort will take offense this time. With only a fleeting glance at the room around him he makes his exit, noting his parents holding each other; his mother with tear streaks and barely contained whimpers, and his father with a cold, stony stare at anything that isn’t his son being turned into a monster.

            The bathroom door barely has time to shut before Draco is a sobbing mess. He collapses onto the floor and holds his knees as close to his chest as possible without breaking them.  Warmth settles over his legs as blood from his arm gushes over him. He has a short moment of worry about the lavish rug he’s staining before he remembers that A) the bathroom rug is the least of his or his parents problems right now, and B) they can do magic. A painful throb from his arm reminds him that he should probably take care of it, but his brain decides that letting out another heaving sob is a better idea. Images flick through his mind; the full moon, clothes ripping as he transforms into a monster, his teeth at the throat of a friend. He’s shaking now and if he doesn’t get control of himself soon he’ll go into shock. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, he slowly gets up and moves over to the sink to wash himself off. Deep red bleeds over the stark white of the sink basin and he confirms that Fenrir did not have any qualms about leaving a mess behind. Multiple gashes are set into his skin about halfway up his forearm. They aren’t lethally deep, but if not taken care of he could easily bleed to death.

            After cleaning and bandaging his wound he sets off to the library. He wishes he could have done more for it, but even if he knew healing magic, it wouldn’t work on wounds like these. The best he can do now is try not to scream and continue on his mission to read Every Book on Werewolves Ever. Browsing the extensive bookshelves, his thoughts dart back to Professor Lupin. In their third year, he’d mocked him mercilessly, called him a half-breed, and laughed with the rest of the Slytherins. It didn’t seem so funny now. If what he remembers is correct, under Dumbledore’s orders Snape had made the Wolfsbane Potion every month before the full moon to keep him lucid during transformations. Draco closes his eyes and starts to think about ways coerce Snape into doing the same again.

            Undoubtedly, Voldemort would much prefer Draco suffer fully each month, having to find a safe space to turn, less he kill someone. This job would certainly be much more manageable without the added risk of full transformations; the potion is a must. With any luck his position with Snape all these years will be enough to illicit help from him. Draco has already gone through a great many books on Lycanthropy and he’s read all about Wolfsbane. It’s one of the most complicated potions he’s ever seen and his current potions standing is certainly not up to par. He doubts even that insufferable Granger could pull it off without help.

            “Draco…,” Hushed words from behind him make him jump and nearly fling the book he’s holding at his mother standing in front of him. She has her head bowed and hood up. The tears falling from her face make soft sounds as they hit the carpet. She opens her mouth to say more, but losing her composure completely, she collapses onto his chest and breaks down.  Draco stiffens but puts a cautious arm around her, wincing as he uses the wrong one. He pulls her into a guarded hug, his cheeks getting wetter the harder he tries to hold it in. They stand there, in their awkward embrace, trying to comfort each other but not knowing exactly how.

           After a moment, the noises lessen, but she’s still shaking. Unspoken words hang in the air, thick and heavy. He gives her a quick, tight hug and tries to convey everything he’s not saying. She stands and looks at him, putting her hand up to his face. A gentle kiss on the cheek and she’s moving out of the room. He watches her go with a pang of regret in his heart. It’s too late for them to be a loving family now. He wipes his eyes again and focuses on the titles in front on him. Tears are a luxury now. There’s a job to prepare for.

                                                                                                                    **…**

            Sometimes during the summer, Draco would climb up to his roof and stare up at the sky. There, he’d stargaze, or cloud watch, or look up at the moon and contemplate life. Now the moon hangs there in the sky taunting him, round and full. He stumbles as he moves further out into the courtyard, hating the moon and everything about it. His cheeks burn hot with shame as his small entourage follows him. His first mutation was declared by the Dark Lord to be a special treat they could all enjoy together. The Death Eaters trail behind Voldemort after Draco, staring and waiting for the show to begin. Bellatrix shadows right behind him, always the enthusiastic disciple.

            The higher the moon crawls into the sky, the more the tension builds. Fear is rising in Draco and he can just barely stand there, with their watchful eyes stripping him bare. Draco’s pupils dilate to the size of small coins and he can feel himself slipping. There’s a searing pain as his body begins to expand. He unwillingly hunches over and the first sounds of tearing fabric indicate the change is oncoming rapidly. Draco tries to hold onto himself as long as possible. He can feel his hatred expanding inside him, filling him to the brim. Within moments there’s no Draco at all. A monster fills his place, all teeth and fur, with glaring yellow eyes. His claws fully extend and snarls leave his throat as the laughing Death Eaters fill his vision. Everything is red tinted and he can hear their laughter, watching and waiting to see what he’ll do. Before he’s even aware of the fact, his body is streaming through the air, teeth targeted to the nearest Death Eater. A high pitched laugh and a flash of light sends him tumbling back down to earth. Before he can try to recover another blast flips him up into the air.

            “Naughty boy, Draco! Didn’t your mummy teach you better than that?” Bellatrix calls out, giving her wand a flick. Draco falls back down with a crack, all tangled limbs and fur. Next is the glaring red light and he’s yelping louder than thought possible, writhing on the ground in blinding, white hot pain. “Maybe I should teach the wee puppy some manners! Is he even housetrained Cissy?” She cackles, her sister watching in horror. She lowers her wand and grins at Voldemort, gauging his reaction and noting his satisfaction. She barely has an instant to be pleased before a huge something fills her peripheral vision and there’s no time to react as Draco comes full speed, claws aimed at her throat.

           “ **Enough!** ” Voldemort proclaims, bringing up his wand in a deft movement swifter than eyes can follow. A gleam of purple light and Draco crumples to the ground, defeated and unmoving; the slight rise of his chest the only sign of life. Another flick of his wand and Draco’s body zips into a nearby storage shed. The door slams shut behind him and he is sealed off for the night. Eyes narrowed to slits, Voldemort returns to the looming Malfoy mansion, Death Eaters close behind. Draco’s parents are left there, consumed with helplessness and paralyzed with panic for their son. After a moment of silent horror and clinging to each other they begin to move back inside, sparing one last defeated look at the shed.

           Inside the shed, he lays there, barely breathing, only semiconscious. The werewolf reduced to a mass of fur and agony. He curls into a ball, letting out one quiet, prolonged whimper and doesn’t move until the morning. Stumbling back towards the house, covered by spare robes from the shed, limping; all the time making up his mind and steeling himself. If he doesn’t do this job they really will kill him - or worse. Shaking, he lowers himself into his bed. He can’t mess up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, and I'd love to hear from you, whether it be a compliment or just constructive criticism. Shout out to Breionna for being my co-conspirator. I'll try to update this as soon as I can.  
> If you want to read the Tumblr post in question its this: http://sexyferret.tumblr.com/post/123355011490/there-are-a-lot-of-harry-potter-theories-that-have


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